


What does it feel like to die?

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Mention of Suicidal Ideation, Mentioned Dream SMP Ensemble, Mentioned Toby Smith | Tubbo, Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Some Gory Imagery, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Tommyinnit (Video Blogging RPF), tommy straight up dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:49:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tommy was canonically beaten to death in a prison cell... So I decided to write this out. Basically taking a look at the character of Tommy and his relationship to death through out the dream smp. I'm gonna be upfront there is no comfort, this is just sad.
Relationships: Tommyinnit &; Clay | Dream
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25
Collections: Anonymous





	What does it feel like to die?

If you asked Tommy what it felt like to die he wouldn’t have to think very hard about it. Death and him had some experience together. He’d concretely died twice and brushed it by more times than he cared to count, lucky falls and play-fights, smoke ridden battles and quieter moments stood over a pit of gifts and trash. All with the common threat of death, the unknown, drawing closer and closer with the loss of his first two lives. And in almost every moment of peril, of fear and resignation there was a common thread of green. His empty smile across the field or above the pit. 

If he had to rank those moments, this would be up there. Probably worse than the first two even. 

The first time he had died it had been quick. A dawning sense of unease and betrayal. That fucking smile and he hit the ground, popping back up like a daisy after respawn. There was no time to mourn the new hole in his chest, to really feel the loss of his first life. Later, much later he had sat with Tubbo, a Tubbo completely different than the one he had now. They had sat quietly next to a fire and encased in blackstone that didn't yet feel like an omen, didn't yet form the backdrop to the worst moments of his life. 

And they had talked, softly and stilted as if they were afraid someone was lurking just out of sight, waiting until they expressed a genuine emotion so they could steal away with it for later, blackmail or manipulation or a hundred other dirty deeds that kept the SMP running. He would tell him how cold it felt, the gap were two of his lives should have been and Tubbo had commiserated. 

But then, in the moment after he was left with fury, hurt and betrayal. A sadness so thick it threatened to choke him out for good, and he marched straight back into the mess outside of the Camarvan. Taking what had thought would always be his spot, right behind Wilbur. Wilbur who seemed cracked, as if Erets betrayal had carved straight through his shell, leaving him weakened and exposed. So Tommy did what he did best, over compensated for emotional weakness with fury and refused to give up. Leading himself head first into his second death, hours after the first.

The second he had at least seen coming, where the first was split second and blurred by shock, the second was as inevitable as it was impossible. Impossible because as cocky as he acted, Tommy was ultimately a teenager in over his head, and there was one thing all teens had in common it was the bone deep believe that they were special, othered, so central to the very small amount of the world that they had seen that it was impossible they could lose in moments like this. Poetic dramatic moments, literary moments where the hero always won. 

So the arrow wasn’t dreaded long enough to make the impact hurt, it melded into the shock of cold water as he dived head first into the pond to escape Dreams sights, a pinch in his side. The pain of which had slammed full force into him as soon as he saw the tendrils of watery blood float past his head. Weakened as he already was, the death was relatively quick, a few moments of dazed confusion, a sharp clear spike of dread and his vision was already dark.

The other smaller moments were nothing exceptional. Quick bursts of panic which were chased away by either relief or disappointment as he realized that this would not be the thing to take his final life. The latter of which had become all too common, creeping in over the course of his exile and haunting him ever since.

This. This felt different. It was different, it was brutal and slow. Every time Dream drew back his fist enough that it entered Tommys rapidly blurring vision there was a moment of relief at the lack of contact, and flashing quickly on its heels was dread and fear as he saw Dream swinging again as if in slow motion. The points of contact lit up each time he felt Dreams fist or his foot, maybe his knee every so often. 

Ribs. Crack. He curled up as much as he could, cradling his stomach in bloodied fingers. The pain which had split through him at first was dulling. Forming a background throbbing as he jerked involuntarily at the harsh contact. Thud. Jaw. Crack again, his head this time. Dreams fingers had fisted in his matted hair and drawn his head up before bringing it down swift and hard against the obsidian floor. 

There was a dull roar now, somewhere in between his ears. Like the rushing of a river seeking the ocean. Could he find the ocean? Someday maybe? He used to love the ocean, even when it wasn't all that warm, him and Tubbo didn't mind, scrambling through sand with an almost feral edge, rolling up the bottom of their jeans and sticking sandy feet in the cold waves. He hadn't done that in while had he? Hadn’t so much as talked to Tubbo in far too long. 

He wondered if Tubbo would miss him. Crack. It all felt like one big broken bone, his fingers looked both far too red and white at the same time, bone poking out through like slits of broken skin as Dream went from finger to finger, snapping each like a glowstick. He hoped Tubbo wouldn’t, that would make him sad. Tommy was shit at dealing with a sad Tubbo. He felt guilty and uncomfortable all at once, he would usually just ramble off sympathies and run off to find someone else who could fix Tubbo. Tubbo wouldn’t need him to find anyone for him though, he had found Ranboo all on his own. Tommy hoped Ranboo could deal with a sad Tubbo better than he could. 

Would anyone even miss him though? Sam might’ve felt some guilt, locking him in here. Thud, his teeth felt a bit shaky now, and his mouth was so thick with blood that he felt nausea build up his throat. Sam was all about the greater good, especially when it came to the prison. And there was no greater good than keeping Dream locked up. Greater good demanded sacrifice, right? Maybe that meant Techno was wrong. Tommy didn’t have to be the hero, he didn't have to fix everything or take on the villains, maybe he could just lay down and lose his final life to help his friends, the server. If there was one thing Tommy was good at it was losing.

Was there anyone else? His vision was blurring more now, everything a smear of glowing orange and black, Dream disappearing into the cell. Sam Nook. Tommys heart hurt. Sam Nook didn’t deserve to have to miss Tommy. Maybe Sam could just wipe his memory drives or something, burn the contract and the hotel with it, set him to building something else, out of danger. Spare him the pain of having to mourn. Jack Manifold could go on, be happier maybe, now that his arch rival or something was dead. Tommy had never really gotten to the bottom of what was up with Jack. He would just have to hope that his death could fix it. 

That was it. Everyone he had to worry about reacting, everyone else he either hadn’t seen in months, was trying to kill him or all of the above.

Phil would probably brush it off easily enough, wipe his hands clean of the last reminder of the son he killed and mark it all down to experience. Fuck, Techno might even be thrilled. 

The longer he thought about it, the better this was for everyone. They could move on, heal right without the splinter of Tommy Innit hurting them. The Eggpire would be thrilled, so would Jack, and Techno, and… Niki. He saw her face when she had led him to the crater, bitter disappointment barely hidden. 

The room was dark, when had Sam retreated the Lava? Where was Dream. The swinging fists had disappeared. Everything felt slippery and raw, sharp pain lanced over his arms and legs. Every beat of his heart just pushed more blood onto the floor and his head was dancing with spots and starts. It was so quiet. Tommy was never quiet, he yelled or bothered. He sang off-tune and hummed to his disks. But now his throat felt horribly tight and when he opened his mouth all that came out was a gurgled cough and a glob of something sticky and hot.

If you asked Tommy what it felt like to die he would have said it was slow and reliving. Painful and crushingly clear. Tommy would have said it hurt. And he would have meant it a hundred ways. But in the end he couldn't say. That's why it's such a hard question, because anyone you could ask would already be gone.


End file.
